


Nowhereville, USA

by dotzipped



Category: Original Work, The Crown of Twelve
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, no character/relationship tags for spoiler reasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26285329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotzipped/pseuds/dotzipped
Summary: Wren's car gives out in the middle of a road trip, leaving them stranded in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Everything is most definitely as it seems.





	Nowhereville, USA

Your hands drum anxiously on the steering wheel of your car. You had never been the greatest at managing gas, nor money, and now you're clean out of both. You've got maybe two dollars to your name, as well as some personal effects, your shitty old car, and enough fuel in your tank to get you maybe two-thirds of the way to the gas station. You're on the sidewalk next to some grocery store, in a small town you never intended to stop in.

You lean forward, rest your forehead on your knuckles, and fight the urge to scream.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

The urge passes.

Okay then, what now? Well, it looks like you're going to be stuck here for a while, so you may as well take a stroll about town. Act like you're supposed to be here. Like this was always the plan. It'll all shake out just fine, probably.

These mantras repeat in your head as you clamber out of your car (never easy for someone of your height) and into the street. It's a nice, golden afternoon, made a lot nicer by being out in the open and not in a tin can with broken air conditioning. You decide to walk straight ahead into the dinky little grocery store you parked next to. It's not like you're going to buy anything, but sometimes just existing in public is good for the soul.

A bell above the door sounds as you enter. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the cashier - a short, ginger guy with glasses - do a little double take at you. That's probably fine; you get a lot of it, especially in the smaller towns. Just as long as he doesn't start asking questions. As you peruse this place's wares you pretend not to notice him stealing glances, presumably trying to figure out your 'whole deal'.

For a few minutes, you become genuinely lost in thought as to whether you should get a snack or not. Maybe some more cup noodles? But they don't have the flavour you really like, and that mini can of Pringles is calling your name. Decisions, decisions.

You're so deep in this critical crossroads in your life that the ringing of the doorbell makes you jump a little. Instinctively you look up. It's just a guy entering the store, of course. He's stocky, rugged, his face obscured by his long dark hair and the brim of his baseball cap. He's wearing a tan jacket, wool-lined, and a pair of very loose jeans that appear much-loved. You can't see his shoes, but you can hear their heavy stomping as he walks. For a guy that looks like he hunts deer for sport, you catch yourself staring at him for quite a while.

The heavy footsteps on the linoleum tiles draw closer. In your peripheral you see the man browsing cans of soup, stacking them in a metal basket that is far too small for the soup quantities he's trying to carry. The sight is enough to tempt you into staring at him proper. His brow is furrowed like he's thinking hard. You wonder if he just looks that way all the time.

He turns to meet your gaze. You almost look away, but something keeps you from it. His eyes... His eyes are confoundingly green. Impossibly green. His irises bore into you, somehow, with an intensity that the rest of his face doesn't share.

You realise that he's tilting his head at you. You've been making eye contact with him for... Probably way too long. His expression doesn't quite read as 'I'm about to call you a slur', but his arms are folded, lips pressed together in a way that looks like he's deciding whether or not to say something.

"That's a lot of soup," you remark, with a vague gesture at his basket.

He actually laughs at that. It's the most shallow, ragged laugh you've ever heard. He looks down for a second, and the break in eye contact allows you to relax a little. When the eye contact resumes, he's wearing a little smirk.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

You can't tell if he's trying to be intimidating or just start a regular conversation. It's hard to tell; he has a thin, husky voice that sounds like he's either a long-term smoker or very sick. Maybe both. Either way, it feels dangerous, somehow. Sharp.

For your own sake, you assume he's just trying to be friendly.

"Am I really that obvious?" You give your response with a small smile.

The man leans up against the racks of canned goods. "Well, we don't see many new faces around here. It's, uh, not the most exciting place in the world, in case you haven't noticed."

"Yeah, no, I noticed," you say, nodding along. There's a lull of silence, and you try to return your attention to what you were doing before. The man, still leaning against the rack that looks to be just about supporting his weight, whistles a small tune.

"Oh, shit, where are my manners!" He puts his arm towards you for a handshake. "Simon," He says. Then, after a pause, "Uh, he/him."

Muscles in your body relax that you didn't even know you had.

"Wren. They/them," you return, shaking his hand. 

"Cool, cool," He mutters, nodding. "So, what brings you here?"

"This town? Uh," you chuckle nervously, "I... kinda just ran out of gas."

He snorts. "Oh, you poor son-of-a-bitch. And of all places to get stuck, you got landed in Stillwater, Michigan."

"Stillwater? What, are there lakes?"

Simon grins at you. "Nope!"

You both fall into a small fit of laughter. It's not that funny, but fuck if you don't need to laugh right now. As the moment fades, you can feel the cashier giving you a hateful look. You are being kind of a headache, but you don't really care.

"So, yeah, guess I'm here for as long as it takes to get back on my feet!" You say, trying to act like the prospect isn't incredibly daunting.

Apparently you're bad at hiding your nerves, because Simon's expression falls a little. "Hey, are you gonna be okay? You have a place to stay and everything?"

You answer with silence. The answer isn't no, per se, but you don't really want to tell him that you're sleeping alone in your car.

"You know," he begins, before pausing tentatively, "There's a pretty nice bed-and-breakfast not far from here. I can send you their way?"

"I would, but that's really not in my, uh, budget right now." You stare at the floor, fidgeting with your hands.

"I see." Simon seems pretty genuinely concerned for you, for some reason. "Well, the guys there do owe me a favour... If they're feeling nice today, they might let you stay for free. For... a while, at least."

"No, It's fine, you really don't have to--"

"No skin off my back, don't worry about it." He pauses, and sighs. "Listen, you don't have to. Obviously. But the offer's there if you need a place to stay. I wouldn't advise sleeping out in the open, though. Absolutely not camping, probably not in your car, either. There are some real fuckin' characters in this town."

"I... What?" You give him a look, puzzled and frightened.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Simon backpedals, "a lot of people get into trouble staying out after dark, is all. Newcomers especially."

"Right." You shift uncomfortably on your feet. You feel a lot worse about your stay here, all of a sudden. "I think I'll take you up on that B&B offer."

He smiles, somewhat apologetically. "Great! If you're not super busy, I can take you over there now?"

"I..." You look down at his smiling face and laugh a little. "I am not even remotely busy."

So, after paying for his pile of canned goods (he explains to you that he hates shopping so he always buys a lot at a time), Simon takes you out of the store, across the street, and maybe two minutes' walk from your car. You arrive at a tall, narrow house with a cute little garden and a sign in the window about rooms for rent. It seems even older than most of the buildings you've seen here, but in better condition. Simon walks up to the door and knocks. You hear a shout from inside, then a dog barking.

Simon turns to look at you, mild concern on his face. "You're not allergic to any animals, are you?" You shake your head no, and he mutters, "Thank fuck."

Just behind the door, you hear the unmistakable noises of an excited dog, and the slightly-more-mistakable noises of a man trying to calm down an excited dog. After a few seconds, the door opens.

You see a man, middle-aged, with dark hair that's just starting to grey, dressed in an admirably tacky button-up/cardigan combo with (comparatively dull) slacks and brown oxfords. He takes one look at Simon from behind his rectangular glasses, and begins to close the door.

"Hey, hey, hey, wait!" Simon yells, and the man stops with the door ajar. "Hey, Talesin, c'mon man. You owe me a favour. C'mon."

The man behind the door - Talesin - rolls his eyes. "You did us a good turn. Once." He speaks with a German accent, and heavy disdain. "Liam may think that warrants a favour, but I do not wish to--"

"Is that Simon at the door?" Sounds a voice from inside. Liam, you would assume.

Talesin sighs. "Yes, but--"

"Well, let him in!"

Talesin scowls at Simon, gives you a suspicious glance, and opens the door. "Fine."

You follow in after Simon, giving Talesin a small wave as you cross the threshold.

The interior of the house is warm, cozy, and well lived-in, all wood and covered in charming trinkets. There are two doors on your right, one at the end of the hallway, and a staircase to your left. Simon rounds the corner into the first doorway, and you follow close by him.

You enter into the house's living room, warmly-lit in the late-afternoon haze, and are immediately accosted by a very large, very friendly St Bernard. It runs circles around your legs, and you laugh and pet its head.

There's a kind-looking man on the sofa - about the same age as Talesin by the streaks of silver in his black hair - and he beams at you and Simon as you appear. You figure this is Liam. He whistles, pats his lap, and the dog bounds into it, getting even more dog hair on his already-covered sweater.

"Sorry about the wrinkly old beast," he muses, before smiling and adding, "and the dog."

"You mind your manners," says Talesin, settling next to him. "You're lucky to have me, you know."

"Yes, I certainly am." Liam's fingers interlock with Talesin's, and you notice they're both wearing wedding rings. "Now quiet down and sip your oolong, we can't have you scaring away the guests."

You take a seat on the couch across from the two old men, and Simon settles into an armchair. Simon explains your situation to them - new in town, no money, needs a place to stay - and Liam listens intently while Talesin idly watches a game show on the TV.

When Simon is done explaining, Liam folds his hands together and thinks for a moment. He turns to you. "So, how long will you be needing to stay?"

"Hopefully not too long..?" Is the best you can give. "I just need to save up enough for some food and some gas, and I'll be out of your hair."

Liam smiles and nods. "So you'll be picking up a job, then?"

"That's the plan! On my way into town, I saw this bar--"

You're cut off by everyone else in the room groaning simultaneously.

"The Devil's Cup is bad news," says Liam, with a soft concern.

"Maria Ikor is a bitch," Talesin snarks, "and I wouldn't trust her to so much as look after my garden. I can't imagine she would look after a part-time employee very well, either."

"She over-charges for drinks like hell, too," adds Simon.

Talesin scoffs. "You would know."

Simon opens his mouth to retort, but Liam raises a hand and he backs down.

"The point is, you're probably better off looking elsewhere." Liam pets the dog in his lap. "Maybe you can do some job-hunting tomorrow, hm? In the meantime, you might want to move your car. Wouldn't want it getting towed."

"That's a good idea," you say, standing up. "And thank you for the hospitality, you've all been super nice."

As you exit the living room and walk into the porch, you hear a pair of boots hurriedly stomp out behind you. Simon passes you, and starts to scribble something into the guestbook. He looks... nervous?

"Hey, I'm gonna skedaddle now too, but, uh. If you need something, or if you just wanna hang out..." He tears off the corner of a page and hands it to you. You're sure his face wasn't this red a few seconds ago. "You can call me, okay?"

The paper has his phone number on it, and a little drawing of a smiley face. "Simon," you give him a wry grin, "are you hitting on me?"

He smiles back, but seems to want to look everywhere but directly at you. His smile is pretty lopsided, you notice. It's cute. That's strange to think of someone who was so intimidating to you at first, but he's definitely being very cute right now.

"Uh, a little bit, yeah."

You fold the paper and put it in your pocket. "Only a little bit? Wow, too bad." You laugh just a little. "I'll let you know when I get some free time."

"Cool! Cool, nice. I'll see you around, then." Simon turns and practically skips into the street. You've never seen such thinly veiled excitement in a person before, and it's kind of adorable. As he turns a corner and disappears, the thought of his face lingers in your head. Well, no; not his face. You just can't shake the thoughts of his eyes.

The next hour consists of you driving your car up to the driveway of your new abode, almost crying when it finally dies about halfway onto said driveway, and attempting to push it the rest of the way with two old men who are about as unathletic as you are. It is gruelling and exhausting - for the body, mind and soul - but Talesin makes everyone tea afterwards and you get to meet the household cat. The cat's name is Temmie (short for Terminator, Talesin tells you with a smug grin), and she's tiny and bitey and bright white. All told, you've had worse evenings.

As the sun settles below the horizon that night, you manage to touch base with your friends via the internet. The four of you (that is, you and your friends, Zoie, Dela, and Invari) all join into a video chat, and after everyone says their hello's, you begin to rattle off everything that's happened to you today.

You don't get far before being interrupted. "You ran out of gas?" Queries Dela. "I thought you were on a full tank a few days ago."

"So did I!" You throw your arms up in the air before crossing them. "But one minute I had a full tank, and the next, my car's about to give out. I think the meter on the dashboard might be busted."

"Or," interjects Invari, "or that shithead who stole all your money decided to siphon your gas, too."

"God, maybe. In any case, I'm stranded here for like, at least a few weeks."

"Does that mean you're not gonna visit us?" Says Zoie, clearly upset. "We were gonna do a braid train and everything! I'm gonna have to make those cookies by myself!"

"The hell you are, I want in on that," says Invari. "Wait, actually, where did you say you were?"

"Michigan, still. Town's called Stillwater. Why?"

"Hm..." Invari tents his fingers and furrows his brow. Seeing him think this hard is decidedly rare. "Zoie, would you be down for a road trip?"

Zoie immediately perks up, eyes wide. "Heck yeah! When you can't come to Canada, the Canada comes to you!"

"Are you guys sure? I'll probably be fine, it's just a few weeks' setback--"

"No, no," Invari interrupts, "I've been looking for an excuse to get away for a weekend."

"Yeah, it'll be fun!" Zoie is literally bouncing up and down in her seat. God knows you can't say no to Zoie.

"Well, if you insist," you concede, and Invari and Zoie both cheer.

There's a couple of seconds of dead air as everyone falls quiet, then you resume recounting the day's events. You get little commentary, other than Invari chiding you for letting 'literally the world's most textbook serial killer' give you his number. Afterwards, you show off the two small lizards that you're sharing a room with, and your friends holler and cheer as you lift them out of their tank to give them each a little kiss.

It's around 11pm when your friendly banter is interrupted by sounds from the street below your bedroom window. First there are footsteps, which doesn't particularly strike you as odd. The footsteps stop, seemingly just outside your front door.

There's a few seconds of pause.

You hear Talesin shout out of the living room window, "Excuse me, can I help you?"

You don't hear a response.

You do hear the sound of shattering glass, and your own car alarm blaring. You drop everything and race downstairs, the sounds of metal being smashed in not stopping as you barrel towards the front door and desperately try to open it - it's latched, fuck - your hands shake as you undo the latches as quickly as you can, and as you fling the door open you see a hooded figure holding a crowbar.

Your car is smashed to pieces.

As Talesin pushes past you, the figure turns and runs. You stand still, swaying in place as Talesin runs to the end of the driveway to shout obscenities at the long-gone assailant. You think you hear Liam calling the police.

The rest of your night is long. You answer a lot of questions, and do a lot of crying.

* * *

_"Oh, quit moping. You did your job, just like I asked."_

...

_"What's wrong? Are they not quite how you'd imagined?"_

...

_"They're here now. You ought to make the most of it instead of sulking. In silence."_

...

_"Don't feel guilty. They were always going to end up here, whether you co-operated or not."_

**Author's Note:**

> wren's car is a 1981 ford fiesta btw. i don't know much about cars but i think you should google 1981 ford fiesta bc they look UNBELIEVABLY shitty and i love them for it


End file.
